Partners: Clintasha in Age of Ultron
by Jedi Kay-Kenobi
Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. Black Widow and Hawkeye. They're partners. Best friends. Former agents. Avengers. But in the end, they're so much more than that. A series of one shots all including Clintasha, because I'll never stop shipping them. WARNING: SPOILERS!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone, I'm back, and with an Avengers fanfiction! Yesterday/the wee hours of the following morning I saw the Marvel Triple bill at my local cinema. It consisted of Avengers Assemble, Captain America: The Winter Solider, and finally... Avengers: Age of Ultron! I've been inspired.**

**WARNING, IF YOU DON'T WAN'T SPOILERS, STOP READING NOW: Clintasha didn't happen in the film, although this was probably established already for any Clintasha shippers from the final trailer in which the Black Widow and Hulk romance is hinted at. From my fanfic you can guess that that hinted romance became a thing. After all the hype for Clintasha and the first film I shipped them since, so seeing that ship, although I was happy for both of our spies with what they were given, I was disappointed with that aspect.**

**Furthermore, there WILL BE SPOILERS FOR THE FILM! End of warning.**

**Finally, I don't own Marvel's the Avengers, any of the characters or anything related to them. Everything belongs to Marvel and Disney.**

**I hope you all enjoy, readers!**

* * *

It happened so fast.

One second he was standing not twenty feet away from her and firing one of his numerous ballistic arrows.

The next, a neon blue blur whizzed past him, flipping him over onto the ground.

He was shot in the process.

All care for the blur was erased from her mind as she mindlessly charged towards him, forcing her legs to kick off of the ground harder and her lungs to take in more oxygen. The rat-a-tatting of gunfire was distant now, although she was still close to the fray, yet it didn't matter.

Barton was down.

He needed aid.

And she was the closest to him.

The ash, rubble, pines and snow clung to her cat suit clad knees as she skidded to a stop beside him, her small hands resting on his shoulder and chest trying to still him. The pain must have been terrible, for he continuously fought against her hold; a reflex to fight and somehow lessen the pain he was in.

"Clint," she spoke softly yet loud enough to hear and an authoritative tone to listen. His head stopped lolling from side to side, and his eyes – his brilliant blue eyes – locked onto hers. There was no panic in them. There was only the veil of pain and his relief that she was with him.

"Clint, stay still, okay?"

Her emerald eyes scanned the wound, bile rising in her throat as she took in the sight of the grievous hole the shot had made in his side. The tissue had come apart, and crimson blood pooled out of him profusely, but at a stable rate.

She could save him.

The tsunami of relief she felt could've overpowered her pragmatism had it not been for the fact that she was one of the world's deadliest assassins and her friend was close to death, sure to die if they didn't get him to the quinjet quickly enough.

By now the blood had completely oozed over the palm of her gloved hands, clinging greedily onto them.

The rate at which he was losing his life source kicked her mind back into gear. Thoughts of who could afford to leave the battle and get him to safety flitted frantically in her mind until finally it stopped on the suitable Avenger.

Blonde hair, blue eyes… a red cape…. Mjolnir.

Thor!

She didn't waste a single second in activating her earpiece again.

"Barton's down, he needs immediate medical attention!" She blurted, trying desperately to keep her words from becoming a slurred tangent. "Someone fast needs to take him."

"Thor can take him," Steve responded immediately over the short static.

"I can," the thunder God confirmed. The metallic bang of his hammer smashing into the armour of one of the many Hydra soldiers boomed across the battleground.

"Thor's on it, Romanoff, when he takes Barton get the Big Guy back."

"I got it," Natasha nodded curtly, hand slipping from her ear to press against Barton's wound again. Clint hissed in pain and tried to roll out of the way again, but Natasha's hand was firmly planted on his shoulder.

The red head's emotions toiled inside of her, like a tornado, throwing many emotions she had fought so hard not to feel – anger, fear, hope, longing. The last one was not new, for she had experienced it many times. It was a longing for him to make it out of whatever scrapes the team, he or she got him into every time.

She stomped them down like a child with a tantrum and looked into his eyes. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder before sliding up to touch his face ever so gently, lovingly.

"Clint," it was a whisper, a caress. Her blood crusted fingertips ghosted down his cheek and along his jaw line. The ghost of a beard was still on his chin, untaken care of. She removed her left glove, wanting desperately to feel the sharp hair beginning to grow there.

Fire roared up her fingers and arm upon the touch of his clammy skin. Even in the cold, harsh winter of Sokovia he was still so warm. A side effect of being injured badly.

_'Come on, Thor.'_

"Tasha…"

"My Lady," Thor's proud voice boomed, causing the Russian spy to whip her head round to face him. He was approaching swiftly, red cape swishing around him and licking at his ankles, hammer firmly in his grasp.

Relief surged through the only woman in the team, its force strong enough to push her head down until her chin was touching her chest.

"I will take him," the Asgardian declared, scooping the wounded agent up in his strong arms. Natasha stood as well, viciously fighting the strong urge to follow him, yet feeling the magnetic pull of battle insert its tendrils into her back and tug.

"He will be safe with me, Natasha."

The God's crystal blue eyes shone with understanding and sincerity, his mouth set into a thin line. She knew he could get Clint to safety faster than any other member of the team and make sure he lived. Thor may not have been native to earth, but he had taken the time to learn the basics of hooking Clint up to a machine that would keep him stabilised until more practical and skilled help arrived. She nodded, allowing the pull of battle to win.

Thor nodded once in return before shooting off of the ground, into the air, and carrying Clint out of her sight.

The butterflies in her stomach stopped fluttering in a mad dance and finally settled into something less that she could deal with. The slowed adrenaline in her veins rushed inside her once more, providing her with the strength she needed to fight once more. To fight, and this time harder.

For him.

Clint.

She rushed, headfirst, back into the fray; towards the tall, splintered trees, the gunfire and the flashing explosions, thoughts of one Clint Barton in her mind.

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**One chapter down, several more to go! Please read and review, ladies and gents, boys and girls. I hope you enjoyed. Stay awesome and get down to your nearest cinema and assemble with the Avengers against Ultron! If you've seen the film already, let me know what you thought of it. I'd really love to hear your thoughts and chat with you. If you've yet to see it, tell me how excited you are and what you think will happen and want to see. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again! Wow, I just wanted to say thank you to those who have so far given this story a favourite, follow and a kind review. I'm glad to know that you're enjoying this so far. I hope that I can continue to please you throughout the rest of this modified AOU, Clintasha style. Here is your next slice of Clintasha cake.**

**Best Friends.**

* * *

"My best friend is alive," the Black Widow breathed, allowing herself to truly experience the joy and relief to flow through her veins. Years ago she would not have been able to feel such things without feeling something much worse – the sting of a sharp blow to the face, for instance, or the storm of a hundred kicks being delivered to her whilst she lay on the floor.

Having her mind pulled out of her once again and played with. Be shown images of her violent and bloody past.

Psychological torture was the worst of her scars. The most difficult to heal.

And yet somehow the man lying down on the hospital bed was slowly mending them.

They would never heal completely, but Clint Barton could at least take her mind off of them.

But Clint Barton had also done something else, and it was something that hadn't been done to her since she was in the Red Room.

He had broken her. From the inside.

Oh, the Red Room may have broken her physically or mentally, but they had never broken her from the inside like Clint had.

That damn well frightened her. It still did. But when Clint was with her it all went away.

"You're brooding."

Suddenly the object of her thoughts materialised into view. Two sparkling, sleepy blue eyes stared at her fair, unmarred face. Again, the thought of her making it out of another mission without a scratch and he getting hurt occupied her mind. Emerald eyes fed on the sight of his face, which had finally returned to its normal colour. And that smile; that crooked smile he was giving her. It made her heart tug inside her ribcage.

She returned it with her own infamous half smile, glad to know that his cocky side was there immediately after regaining consciousness. It came out in full now that the other Avengers had gone and left the two of them alone together.

"Well if I'm brooding it's your fault," she joked, tilting her head to the right and bending forwards in her seat so that her face was leaning over his. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, itching to touch him, though she knew that if she did she wouldn't be able to stop herself from giving herself more.

For a moment Clint's face was blank, and in that moment Natasha felt a flicker anxiety. His eyes looked to be far away, stretching out for a distant memory – she suddenly realised what would be going through his mind. He took her joke seriously.

_'Shit.'_

"Clint, it's not your fault. Yeah, you sure as hell scared me to death again when you got hit, but it's nothing that hasn't happened to me neither. We were trained for this kind of thing. We've always known that one day one of us won't come out of a mission alive. We're only human."

He blinked. She blinked in return. He blinked again. Then a long sigh blew out of his mouth, his eyes being diverted to some object to his left before returning to her.

"Is there anything you don't look at as business?"

His tone was completely serious, yet his eyes glinted with kind humour. His carefree attitude was back as well. No matter how many times he got battered, Clint Barton always shone through whenever he regained consciousness.

Natasha pursed her lips and tipped her head to the left, hair flicking the sides of her face as she pretending to be in thought. "One or two things, maybe. Taking care of my guns is one of them. Threatening Stark with all the ways I could kill him with my little finger too."

A low laugh rumbled from the archer's chest causing Natasha to gift him with a genuine smile. Against the technological backdrop which was Stark's advanced monitors, screens and gear, her smile lit up the entire room. Clint's own smile grew wider, as though hers was mending him faster than the machine which he lay under.

On instinct, she took his larger hand in her own, curling her fingers carefully over the edge of his palm. "And then there's you."

Her heart was tightening in her chest with each passing moment. Saying the words alone still had the strangling effect on her like they did when she first began to see him the way she did now. And by some miracle he looked at her the same way.

Yet it was in these solitary moments without the rest of the team – most irritably Stark's snooping nose – present that the two Avengers could be themselves completely.

"Oh yeah," the archer teased, cockily arching one blonde eyebrow. God, did he look sexy whenever he did that. "And what am I to you?"

There were so many words; so many phrases which she could use to describe to him just what he was to her exactly. Her guard. Her eyes. Her anchor, or rock; ally, partner, friend.

As the thoughts drove through her mind, like a train following the railroad, her right hand had slowly and subconsciously gone to sit delicately on top of his head. Her fingers carded tenderly through his hair, and for a few moments, she watched as the archer relaxed under her touch, closing his eyes and allowing a long sigh to escape his nostrils. She leaned closer to him, her face now only centimetres from his, and the tip of their noses nearly brushing. Emerald and sapphire were fiercely magnetised.

"You're the best part of me."

_'My everything.' _Though they were the words that she left unspoken.

However, somehow, she knew that he understood what she meant. What he absolutely was to her.

* * *

**So, in this I incorporated the whole 'my best friend is ok' thing like Natasha does in the film. Of course, there's so much more to just being 'best friends' with these two, and since this is Clintasha and it's tagged as romance, you can be sure to expect some romantic moments in the chapters to come. I promise! There's gonna be way more romance in the next chapter during the fight with (SPOILERS) Ultron, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver, and when they ( MORE SPOILERS) reach Clint's farm in the aftermath of the chaos of that fight. You have my word. Former Air Cadet's honour. ;)**

**Please let me know what you think! I always love to hear from you all! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**More hits of romance in this one, and it's very much Clintasha centric at the end. Also got a little tidbit of the comic universe in this one. :)**

**Come Back.**

* * *

This was a nightmare.

The ship Clint and the rest of his team were in had the perfect setting for one. They were confined in a tube, so to speak, with its tall and menacing copper coloured walls surrounding them and rusty catwalks above and below their heads. With each pounding step one of the duelling Avengers or Ultron and his allies, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff made, the bone chilling sound of rusting metal screeched.

The sound was something akin to a piece of chalk being scraped slowly across a blackboard. It made his spine tingle and his body to cringe in response.

But this was a nightmare. And a nightmare did things worse to you than send spine tingling chills down a person's back.

It froze fear inside of a person's heart, forcing it to beat faster to try and thaw the encroaching terror. It caused the body to sweat as it worked to draw out the anxiety creeping under the skin.

A nightmare brought someone's fear to life, even if only momentarily.

One of Clint Barton's fears had been brought to life the moment he rounded the corner and laid eyes on a wandering Natasha Romanoff.

The deadly Russian assassin turned hero was taking meagre steps down the flight of stairs just to his right, the delicate fingers of her right hand barely gliding along the coarse railing. Her entrapping crimson eyes – having lost their sharp emerald under the Scarlet Witch's influence - were glassy and vacant, her mind having been caught in a faraway world – a memory, or several. The haunted expression sketched on her face was enough for him to determine just which memory she was reliving.

His heart cracked at the sight.

"Nat!" He cried, surging towards her, the battle forgotten, and slamming his hands down against her arms, holding her in place before she could lose her footing or wander any further.

No signs of recognition appeared to shatter the terrified look on her face, and a growing ball of anger sparked to life in Clint's chest, twirling and flaring dangerously. His face hardened and his eyes darkened, no longer the sapphire tinted with grey colour, but now a pencil shade of grey altogether. A low, feral growl tore its way out of his throat.

_'I'm going to stick an arrow through that witch's eye socket.'_

The hypnotised Natasha had now stopped trying to continue walking and now merely stood just a head taller than him on the stairs. Her lips quivered, and her throat managed to tear out low whimpers and incoherent noises, as though she were trying to speak to him, yet the only thing that slipped past her full lips was a shallow _'no'._

"No." Again and again. She was like a broken record, and another crack splintered Clint's heart, getting closer to cracking his glass soul. In her current state her own soul shone through, naked and vulnerable to everyone. It was made of glass as well. That was one major thing that connected them, for they were the same, having both done terrible things. Abominations they could be called. They did the dirty things so that other people wouldn't have to, all to make the world a better place.

Yet they were also intertwined. The two spies were inseparable and yet so similar. Their relationship was unparalleled, but they could be torn apart, as they had been before on multiple occasions. And despite that they always somehow managed to meld together again and shape themselves into what they wanted to be. They couldn't have everything, but each other was enough.

"Nat, look at me," he coached softly, cupping her round face in his hands, trying his best to remember a time when her skin had felt as soft as it was right now, for he had felt it in his hands more than once in the past. _"Eyes on me."_

"Hurts…" She moaned, grimacing painfully.

He shook his head quickly, eyes now burning with…. Tears? When was the last time he even shed one?

"No, _no, _Natasha, it doesn't hurt. You're OK, you're not _there_ you're here, you're OK, you're with me, _Clint."_

Something shifted in her eyes slightly; a flicker of green. Was it recognition – "Clint…?" – It was! The breath left his body in a monumental sigh of relief. Joy flooded his being, drowning him in its waves. He gladly allowed it to.

"Yeah, it's me!" He whispered, a shaky grin spreading across and parting his lips. "Tasha, I'm here."

Something soft touched his wrist, sending fire across and under his skin. From the corner of his eye he saw something that was black, but solid. A glove.

Her gloved hand was resting on his wrist, her fingers lying on the back of his hand.

His heart skipped a beat and his throat swelled. He could barely swallow air without difficulty. His heart was a jumping Jack inside of his ribcage, banging against its bone walls savagely as though it were about to burst from his chest, in which he compared to being like the Xenemorph from the Alien films. Those scenes had always made him cringe, but in this moment, he didn't want to feel something else. The woman in front of him had recognised him. She had _recognised _him.

The world had evaporated, leaving just them. There was no other feeling other than pure, consummate joy pulsing inside of him.

Natasha was coming back slowly, the crimson now dissipating from her eyes like paint mixed with water. He watched his own face mirrored in the shine of her eyes, and her pupils dilate as they focused on his face.

By now she was trembling uncontrollably that he had to dig his fingers into her arms slightly more so that she didn't escape his grasp and tumble down the stairs. In her bewildered state she would soon become startled by her sudden change of surroundings and fall down the stairs, likely to cause herself injury.

"Clint." His name again. It came out in a strangled sob. A lone, traitorous tear was leaving a quickly drying trail down her left cheek, and without even thinking, he had reached up to smudge the crystal drop from her face ever so gently with his thumb. The motion appeared to be more of a loving caress, and he had entirely meant for it to mean so.

His heart turned towards her in the way that it hadn't done for a long time. It had been years since they dated, yet with a simple touch it felt as though it had only been yesterday when he had last kissed her.

Their faces were so close, breath mingling, eyes half closed yet locked on to each other's. They both swallowed. They were on a tightrope which was taut and threatened to snap at any moment and send them wheeling down into the pools below. Two glass souls shaped again, still fragile, but building slight strength.

"_Tasha…" _

She trembled again, but this time it wasn't because of her nightmares. He looked into her eyes and saw what he had dared to hope beyond hope for years now: her heart.

It was rising, full and purple before him. It was turning to him. She had been struggling, in secret, with the same desires for as long as he had, now to finally make her choice in the same moment as he.

She had always held control over what they would do or become; whether they went back to that place they had refused to return to for such a long time. He could never force her to make a decision such as where they stood with haste. She was slightly more unstable than him with the things the Red Room did to her, finding it more difficult to trust someone. To not be scared of herself.

Her eyes were tired, but her heart remained there, looking right into his. His heart swelled, and he was still stunned by the adoring look in her eyes.

"любовь искрится в ваших глазах," he murmured, relaxed, his eyes still on hers.

Despite the trauma that was still sketched on her face and her shaking, she still managed a tiny smile.

"я знаю."

Just like that, the tightrope that they had been balancing on for years finally snapped by her hand. With just those simple words they fell together, plummeting towards the pools below.

And then her arms encircled him, and she pulled him to her, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

He closed his eyes at the feel of her breath tickling his neck, her lips touching his skin and staying there; the wetness that soaked him and his vest as she silently released her emotions. He settled for burying his face in her short, fiery curls and simply breathed in the scent of her, feeling whole at the prospect of being able to hold her like this again after so long apart.

* * *

**"любовь искрится в ваших глазах," - Love sparkles in your eyes. **

**"я знаю." - I know. **

**I always felt Clint could pull off being a romantic if he wanted! He is quite charming I think. ;) xD**

**Next chapter will be up soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi again! Sorry about the wait, but I've been busy with work, revising and working on my final assignments for the year at uni. It's pretty stressful, which is why I've taken some time to write this. I've decided that this part will be split into two, although the second part may be a while before I manage to write it down and upload it, due to the things that are keeping me occupied at the moment. I'm sorry about this, but come May 21st you can expect a very relieved history student to be whipping up more chapters for you. It also gives time for everyone to see AoU now that it's out in the USA. Thanks, everyone, here's chapter 4.**

**The Farm.**

* * *

Clint piloted the quinjet with an intense concentration on his face. His blue vision stared at the sky on the other side of the reinforced glass window with intensity as the fluffy white clouds pass over them. A small crease etched itself on his brow, the result in a mixture of concentration and worry for Natasha.

She had been silent for the entire journey, as had the rest of the team, though he knew instinctively that she would be worse due to her past.

"Want me to take the wheel?" Tony, the only one of the team who could muster up any few words still, asked as he stood next to the archer.

"Nah, I got it, thanks," Clint answered, never tearing his eyes from the sky. Tony nodded and walked off to the back of the qunjet, his hands clenched not in frustration, but because he was deeply unnerved, as the rest of the team were.

Clint felt the incessant tugging in his heart to get up, approach Natasha and put his arms around her, but he knew that she wouldn't want to talk about it now. The topic of her past had always been discussed between them and no one else, not even Coulson or Fury. The pair had their own way. Natasha would either take her motorcycle out or would train, usually with Clint volunteering to be her punching bag. The fight would release her demons from their cages, fuelling her venom so that when one of her various punches or kicks made their mark after a perfectly times quip from Clint came, she would feel some satisfaction. Clint would be her hope, her salvation; he would take the hits so that she felt as though she was still worthy to fight for good.

A golden cloud of dust swept around the landing gear as he masterfully descended to the ground.

Not wasting a beat, he opened the ramp and spun around in his chair, pushing himself up and walking over to the still immobile Natasha, taking her in his arms. He looked at her vacant face, the crease between her thin, red eyebrows, and the tortured glow in her eyes. She followed him fluidly when he began to slowly pull them both up, her head falling to settle against his shoulder.

Her red curls tickled his neck as they walked across the dirt path towards the white, wooden panelled house. Steve was not far behind, his head hung low. Tony's fists were still clenched. Thor's hammer looked as though it were about to slip from his grasp. Banner meandered in the back, his face a picture of distraught and his arms encircling him in a cocoon like manner, as though he were shielding himself from all of the world.

Clint wasted no time in pulling out the key that dangled on a chain around his neck and unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping in after Natasha.

The rest of the team shortly followed and gathered in the hall, their eyes roaming over every detail with interest. No one but himself, Natasha, Fury and Coulson knew of this place's existence, keeping it off of S.H.I.E.L.D records, and they preferred to keep it that way. In the end it had paid off, for H.Y.D.R.A had never discovered it throughout their infiltration.

A warm feeling inflated inside his chest at the familiar feeling of safety and security. Of all places in the world, a simple farm house was the most secure place Clint had always felt he had ever been in.

"What is this place?" Tony asked out of the blue. Four pairs of inquisitive eyes stared at them, awaiting an answer.

"A safe house," Natasha answered before the archer could; the first time she had spoken in hours.

"Fury and Coulson helped set it up for us back in the early days of our partnership," Clint added.

Steve had a serious look on his face, but did not say anything, content to just accept the spy's answers, as did the others.

"So…" Tony started, pursing his lips as though he had just popped a sour sweet into his mouth. "You two play house?"

"Don't say it, Stark," Natasha's husky voice cut in swiftly as she levelled him with a deadly stare, promising him a world of pain if he let another one of his many insinuations slip. The message was clear to Tony, for everyone knew that when the Black Widow made a move against someone, it was a promise that they were in for the worst imaginable pain or torment.

"I wasn't going to say anything!" The genius cried, raising his hands quickly in surrender.

"Sure you weren't," the red head deadpanned, not even looking over her shoulder at him whilst she made for the stairs.

The five men watched her leave, none daring to whisper a word, for knowing her, she would likely hear it and knock each and every one of them out before they could even say 'run'.

"Help yourselves to anything you need, guys," Clint sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to work out a sore crick there. "Bedrooms are in the hall upstairs, there's plenty of food in the kitchen. Thor, you better damn well save us _something _or I will personally see to it that you become the new stand for an apple during shooting practice. Oh, yeah…. And you may need to bunk up."

With a wicked smirk the hawk dashed up the stairs, filled with glee at the sound of Tony panting as though he had just been kicked in the gut.

Following the soft sound of light footsteps, Clint slowly entered the room that Natasha was in and closed the door behind him with a nearly inaudible click. The Russian had stripped herself of her cat suit and was now wrapped up in a fine white bath robe made of silk, very fitting for a spider such as herself.

The sight of the robe clinging to her in just all of the right places, from her wide hips and perfect waist, to the near plunging neckline that almost revealed her cleavage was incredibly alluring to him, enough to unlock all of his secret thoughts of her from the cage he had built in his mind long ago. He focused on his breathing, making sure to keep heartbeat slow. If she were to place her hand on his chest now it would speed up to the rate of a humming bird's, and the memories of everything that they had once had would come rushing back to her and scare her into thinking he only wanted her for what many others before him had, even though she knew it was him. It was too risky. It was not something he wanted whilst she was still in a vulnerable state.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Her bright emerald eyes looked up into his blue and for what felt like eternity they just stared. No words could come to either of their minds, nothing about them or of what had happened a few hours ago. Eventually the spell broke with Natasha blinking fervently.

"Will you dance with me later?"

And he knew her answer: yes, they would talk about it. They would deal with this as they had a number of times before. They would train.

"You know I would love to," he smiled, giving her a theatrical bow and earning a small chuckle from her.

She smiled softly at him before turning around and entering the small bathroom, closing the white door behind her.

Clint stood there smiling to himself, not even bothered that he would be enduring a freezing cold shower by the time she was done.

* * *

**It has occurred to me that these two aren't really in character, especially after going over the third chapter. This may just be me overreacting after reading some other fantastic fics about these two, or I may actually not be doing a very good job with handling them. I'd really appreciate it if you all gave me your thoughts about that. Be honest, yeah? I don't mind the criticism. I _want _ to improve and do these two complex and brilliant characters justice. As always, review. I'll see you around soon. ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi everyone, I apologise for this taking a long time, even after my end of year exam, but I've just been swept up with life lately. I'm preparing for my trip to China where I'll be teaching English to school children for two weeks, followed by another two weeks of travel afterwards, so sorting out my visa and making lesson plans, as well as getting my gear ready has been very time consuming. I hope you are still interested in reading this, as I have written a longer chapter for you all to begin making up for a long pause between the last update and as a start to my continuation before going away next month. I owe you all that, at least.**

**Hope you enjoy. :)**

**I Will Be. (The Farm Part 2).**

* * *

"So what's the story behind you and this place?" Tony questioned, stuffing another forkful of maple syrup covered pancakes into his mouth before he had even finished chewing the first lot and pointing at the two agents on the opposite end of the table with his knife.

Natasha and Clint merely stared coolly at the ravenous millionaire who looked expectantly back at them and continued to show a near complete lack of etiquette. Both of them could barely conceal their disgust at the display.

"None of your business, Stark," Natasha said lowly, her bright green eyes flashing. She really did not want to deal with Stark's guessing games and teasing over her and Clint, and judging by the exhausted faces of the other Avengers, neither did them.

Tony, oblivious to everyone's distaste, wolfishly shovelled another small three layered triangle of pancakes into his mouth, his mahogany gaze never leaving them. "Err, excuse me, but since you guys were the ones to bring us here after that fiasco back in that small African town, I think it _is _my business. In fact, I think it is _all _of our business."

"If they don't want to say anything, leave them be," Steve sighed, throwing his head back against the back of the sofa he was currently situated on in the centre of the living room.

"What?" Tony snapped, spinning around on his wooden chair and throwing his left, fork wielding arm, on top of the back. "You rolling over and showing your belly now too, Cap?"

"Show a little respect for their privacy!" The Super Soldier snapped irritably, pressing his finger and thumb against his closed eyes tightly that it looked as though he was going to push them backwards out of their sockets.

"This isn't the forties, stars and stripes, this is the twenty-first century. Everyone knows everything about celebrities, which we actually are in the eyes of the public, which means that they likely know or have a hunch that the HMS Blackhawk has –"

"Enough!" Tony forgot the rest of his statement and, along with the rest of the team, gaped somewhat fearfully at the tightly clenched and the slightly perspired fist of one Clint Barton that had just banged off the table.

A charged, tense silence filled the air, and Natasha was the only one who was the least fearful to keep her gaze locked onto the clearly frustrated archer, whereas the others meekly averted their worried gazes elsewhere – Tony finding his cutlery suddenly highly interesting, Steve fixated on the back of the sofa he now had half of the front of his body facing, and Bruce to his linked and fumbling hands. Thor had already vanished not five minutes after arriving on the farm.

The red head studied her partner like she was studying memorable information from a mission briefing, but with much more care and concern. She took in every tiny extra detail that gave away his frustration, albeit he was already displaying it as brightly as the flashing lights of Vegas, from the single bead of sweat that trickled down his temple on the left side of his head; the blue vein jumping in his neck and the ones that ran along his finely toned, skin-tanned arms; the lighter shade of blue his eyes had dilated to.

Deep down, it was the shift in the colour of his impossibly blue eyes that triggered a stab of sadness to inflict her. She felt her eyes burning with the beginning of tears, yet forced them down stubbornly. Tears were a sign of weakness as she had been told many, many times by her mentors when she was in the Black Widow programme. The Black Widow did not cry. She had cried before, twice – once when she still remembered a semblance of who she was before her programming, and the second time when she was with SHIELD and had woke up screaming from a nightmare. Clint had rushed into her room seconds after and had captured the kicking and screaming agent in his arms, consoling her with soft, kind words. She had cried before, but she would not now. Not in front of the others she wouldn't.

"Clint," she murmured, placing her small right hand on his forearm and leaning forwards into his peripheral view. She felt the tension release from his body from under her hand and allowed a tiny, near imperceptible smile to tug on the corners of her lips when his blue gaze turned to find her green.

The two agents continued to look into each other's eyes for a long time, the world and the stares of the now, once more, captured attention of the other three falling out of place. Had Coulson or Fury been with them they would have known that Clint and Natasha were conducting one of their many silent conversations.

Natasha's eyes were steely and steady. _You okay?_

Clint's shifted from the lighter shade of blue – which reminded her so much of the pain he had carried within them not long after Loki's control of him had been broken – to his original sparkling, sapphire blue. _Yeah. I got a lid on it._

Her smile twitched slightly, green eyes sparkling. _Good. Should we tell 'em?_

A strained smile touched Clint's mouth. _Not like we have a choice now. Stark won't leave us alone until we do._

Natasha's index finger tapped his arm a few times. Morse code. _All right then. Do you wanna tell 'em, or shall I?_

Clint tapped back. _I'll tell 'em._

"Meanwhile, back on planet Earth, the handsome one, the scary angry guy, and the popsicle are waiting for Blackhawk to get back from Planet Woohoo." Tony said, lifting his hands to either side of his head and circling his index fingers whilst whistling.

Clint Barton looked at Tony Stark with a bored expression on his face, whilst Natasha Romanoff targeted the billionaire's fingers with her piercing green eyes and envisioned several bullets flying at them. It wasn't as if he needed his hands. The guy had made a dozen armoured metal robots that could do all of his work for him.

"You done?"

Tony dropped the act swiftly, perceptibly catching Clint's clipped tone. "Quite."

"You gonna shut up and listen?"

"I'm all ears," Tony smiled wolfishly, pushing the unfinished plate of pancakes and cutlery aside and planting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

Clint leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs out, crossing his ankles over. His broad arms came to rest over his chest. His head drooped slightly, his chin touching his chest, and his eyes locked directly onto Tony as though he were perched on a rooftop somewhere half way across the world and was watching his target through a scope.

"I'm only gonna tell you once and it's a short story so you better be listening; my family has owned this farm for years, ever since I was a little kid. I ran away with my brother and joined the circus before they turned their back on me and my brother tried to kill me. By that time my parents were already dead. I found out that my brother had killed them and so I killed him, not for him killing them, but because he tried to kill me. Our parents were drunks and abusive, so I didn't feel any kind of antagonism towards him for killing them like I should've. After I killed him, this place then became mine. I got all the details and then had Fury and Coulson keep it off the radar for Laura and the kids."

"Kids?!" Tony choked, punching his chest to try and get the water he had just swallowed out of his windpipe.

"Are you married?" Steve asked, frowning. He never pictured Clint, the super spy, the legendary Hawkeye, to let himself get tied down. Apparently he was wrong.

"Yeah," Clint answered, shrugging and looking at all of them with surprise. "Is it really that surprising that I'm actually a family man?"

"Well… yes, actually," Bruce finally spoke up, pushing himself off from the window sill he had been leaning on in the more shadowed area of the living room in which he had been hiding himself in. "With your job entailing you keeping secrets and all, it just didn't seem like you."

"Well I dunno what else to tell ya," Clint sighed, slapping his hands on his thighs.

"They have got to be agents," Tony piped up suddenly, looking blankly down at the table.

"They aren't," Clint answered tersely, a muscle in his squared jaw jumping.

"Are they coming home any time soon?" Natasha asked quietly.

Clint shook his head, a solemn expression passing over his face. "Not that I know of."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Steve murmured as the sound of a latch clicking sounded throughout the living room, his enhanced hearing having picked up the sound before the rest.

The sound of muffled voices – three, a little girl, boy and a woman – followed, trailed by the pattering of hurried footsteps as two small figures came barraging into the living room, only to stop dead at the unexpected sight before them.

"MOM, MOM, ITS DAD AND AUNTIE NAT!"

"Oh, don't be silly kids," the third voice replied. "They're on the other side of the wor-" A brown haired, small and slender woman stopped and stood stock still under the threshold between the front hall and living room, her dark brown eyes staring wide at the five people situated around the area.

Everyone stared dubiously at the other, no words or actions being exchanged between them. Only a multitude of confused thoughts crashed around inside their heads, showing on all of their faces.

"Hi, Laura" Clint waved half-heartedly from his chair before moving his legs to plant his feet more firmly on the ground and push himself up into a standing position. The poor man, Natasha noted, looked so bashful in his half confused state.

Instantly, the woman's face morphed from shock and confusion to nothingness. Natasha blinked at the sudden change in Laura's expression, finding herself marvelling at how impassive she looked and how it rivalled her own emotionless mask. The woman looked as though she were made of granite.

"Don't," Laura began in a low voice, her lips curling into a small snarl. "You. 'Hi, Laura'. Me, Clinton Francis Barton. You don't call for _months_ and then just suddenly show up here?"

"I thought I'd surprise you all…" The now nervous archer replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his cheeks darkening to a cherry red.

"Next time when you're in a life or death situation, call me before you arrive. The kids and I would like to know you're alive, soldier."

Immediately, Clint's entire body tensed, and his back straightened until he was completely straight, his face now serious as his military instincts kicked in. "Yes, ma'am."

A few moments later, Laura's granite mask slipped away and was replaced with a wide grin. Her chocolate eyes sparkled with joy, Natasha noted, feeling warm inside at the happy reunion she knew was about to come.

"Well get over here, you!" She cried, holding her arms wide open. "We've missed you!"

The archer gladly complied, circling around the table, crossing the room, and falling into the small woman's arms. The two children – a brown haired boy and blonde haired girl – attacked his legs, wrapping their arms around one and clambering at his waist, giggling.

"You too, Nat!" Laura ordered, peeking over Clint's left shoulder and staring right at the red head spy. "Get over here and put your arms around me, the kids and your husband!"

"_Husband?!" _Tony shouted, nearly falling out of his chair. And he wasn't alone in his cry of heart stopping shock. Steve and Bruce had cried out too, the former looking deflated on the sofa, and the latter looking rather dizzy and leaning back against the window sill, removing his glasses from the bridge of his nose and dragging his left hand down his face from eyes to chin.

"No, this… this can't be real. They're all agents. She," Tony rambled, pointing at Laura who currently had her head nestled within the tangle of arms and torsos. "Is an agent. Those two are… smaller agents. This is all one big briefing."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "We were trying to keep a low profile on that, Laura." At Laura's apologetic look, Natasha put her arms as best she could around the other woman and Clint. "See how long we could keep them guessing."

"Guessing?" Steve questioned, looking confused. "What makes you think we were guessing anything?"

At this the two agents looked over their shoulder to throw an unimpressed look at the team leader.

"We knew you guys were placing bets on us. Thor still hasn't quite mastered keeping his voice down yet."

"Damn it, hammer man!" Tony cursed through clenched teeth, slapping his forehead with a resolute smacking sound. Steve and Bruce blushed.

"It was an important matter, guys," Bruce joked quietly, smiling at the pair. "What takes precedence right now is why the kids call you their dad if you're married to Natasha, Clint."

"Yeah, about that," the blonde haired archer began, face scrunching slightly, his blue eyes deep in thought on how to phrase his answer. He shot Laura a warning look, to which the brunette understood with a curt nod before telling the kids that it was bed time and ushering them upstairs, yet not before leaving both Clint and Natasha one final hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Once he was sure that they were out of earshot – they were when he could no longer hear the sound of their retreating voices and footsteps – Clint began.

"The kids aren't mine; they're my brother, Barney's. Or… they were. They were only infants when I had to kill him. They don't remember him. He used to be a great guy, especially when he met Laura one day during a circus performance. Heh, he saw her during his act and went looking straight for her after the show had ended."

A whimsical laugh slipped past Clint's lips, his eyes lowering to the floor in reminiscence of times of old, when things had been okay. Before everything got screwed up.

"He had everything he ever wanted right in front of him when he married her – the possibility of having kids, starting a family… to get away. But… over time… he changed. The circus wasn't what I thought it was. I tried to leave. No one tries to leave. He beat me and left me for dead, a mercy considering anyone who tries to leave the circus dies. I followed a dark path after that, making all of the wrong choices, until Coulson found me. One day I was given a mission to take out some criminal who had near enough the same accuracy as I do with a bow and arrow. When I learned that it was my brother, I didn't know what to think.

"All I could remember was him beating me into a pulp on the muddy ground, my blood mixing with the rain water. And I wanted to kill him. I didn't even think about. I just let go of the string and watched as he fell to the ground. It was afterwards that I found out he had children, Lila and Cooper. Laura had left him. When I found her she told me that he had been getting worse since he supposedly killed me. The people who took us in were getting to him and turning him into a monster. She left him to protect herself and the kids. They call me dad because I'm the closest thing they have to a father figure, so they live here with me and Natasha."

Clint bowed his head and blew out a heavy sigh. His eyes burned and he could feel the trembles in his body, yet he stood stock still, refusing to let them show. The rest of the team was silent, looking at the archer with compassion. Natasha could see in each of them that they respected Clint even more now and would stand by him. She was grateful for that. More than they may think. Her left arm slowly snaked around his waist, tightening to pull him to her. His own right arm mirrored her action, bringing them close together for a loving embrace.

At the tender moment, the other three all looked at each other and nodded, before getting up and vacating the living room, deciding it best to give the two agents some privacy.

Natasha nestled her head against her husband's, burying her face into his neck. Clint did the same to her, his strong arms pulling her even closer to him. Their bodies were flush, pressed tightly together. Every contour was joined, leaving no space for air between them.

"You okay?" She murmured, lips tickling his skin and husky voice vibrating through him.

"I will be," he answered with a slow, gentle nod, his hair brushing hers. "You?"

Natasha sighed, taking in his warmth, his scent – pine and the lightly scented cologne he always put on every morning – and everything that made up Clint Barton.

"I will be."

She wasn't lying.

* * *

**A more Clint-centric chapter in this one, with a little bit of classic Tony Stark humour added into the mix. I'm thinking of making another alternate farm house scene, I.E. A missing scene entirely Clint/Natasha centric, so the next update will either be that or when the Avengers move on to Seoul and fight Ultron for the Cradle there. See you soon, everyone! Enjoy your day/night/whatever time it is where you are! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

***Takes a deep breath* Ok... I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SOOOOOOOOOO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG. I had absolutely no inspiration to write when I came back from China and I just got soaked up into the thrill of the holidays. Uni is around the corner and that it really the drive that got me going, because goodness knows that when I start second year I'm going to virtually have no life until the next holidays. I hope you can forgive me. Also this chapter is out of sync with the rest. I just had an idea and had to get it out, so here it is. Enjoy. :)**

**Avengers Assemble.**

* * *

There were only four words spoken, cut and clear; commanding. But they were enough to wake Steve Rogers up with a sudden surge of energy. They were words in which he was commanded; words he spoke when it was he who would be in command.

"Rogers. Assemble the Avengers."

He was already half way to the wardrobe when he followed the order and hung up on Fury, tossing his phone over his shoulder, fully confident that it would land on the comfy bed behind him. Surely enough it did.

His wardrobe stood at the opposite end of the bedroom, magnificently large and shrouded in inky black shadow, a disconcerting sight, but he paid no heed to it. He was in front of it in less than six large strides and peeling the double doors open.

The white star glared at his face, having caught some light from the tiny crevice the closed curtains made near the window.

It was time to suit up.

* * *

"Mmmmffff…. Go away…"

Why wouldn't the buzzing stop?

He lifted his chin, eyes still closed, groped aimlessly for his pillow, caught it, put his head back down and promptly dumped the pillow on top of his head, hands seizing the soft object within his grasp.

"Tony… just answer the phone," Pepper murmured. The woman slept so lightly that even the slightest tremor could wake her.

With one last groan of defiance he complied and reached across the nightstand, managing to hook the incessant vibrating object with his fingers and drag it towards him.

"You have reached the very life-like and _very _hungover model of Tony Stark at two thirty in the morning, please leave a message," Tony grumbled as he pressed the now answered phone to his ear.

"Hello to you too, Tony," Nick greeted dryly.

Stark lofted one dark eyebrow. "What, no lecture?"

"I don't have time to lecture you, Stark. Rogers or Miss Potts can take care of that. I'm calling because there is a much bigger problem that we need to deal with _right now_."

The billionaire groaned again, pressing the heel of his left palm to his forehead and slowly dragging it down his weary face. "Can't it wait?"

"The bad guys don't wait, Stark," Nick snapped instantly, his sharp tone causing Tony to wince and rub at his eyes.

"Get your ass down to the living room now, everyone is already there waiting for you."

"Aye, aye, Captain," he hung up before the spy-who-never-slept could issue him any death threats down the line.

* * *

"Doctor Banner, Nick Fury is on the line for you."

"Thanks, JARVIS patch him through for me," the doctor answered mildly, instead more focused on his work – by work he meant devising more ways to calm down the Hulk if he ever decided to stay at the party the Avengers were at a little long than what was necessary.

Nick's no nonsense voice filled the large laboratory the good doctor was working in. "Doctor Banner, we need you downstairs immediately."

"What is it?" Bruce asked, never taking his eyes off of the vastly scribbled, large piece of paper and leaning to the left, tilting his head ever so slightly in the same direction, as though he were trying to view some new particular small thing that he hadn't seen before.

"We need the Avengers to assemble."

Bruce's ministrations came to a sudden halt, the laboratory falling silent. For a moment all was still, and it looked as though the scene had been snapped in a picture, if it weren't for the blinking light from the monitor to Banner's left and the constant, but steady, rise and fall of his chest. The nearly unnoticeable "zrkteger" of the computer monitor and the sound of his breathing were the only signs that anything was going on in there.

He slowly took off his glasses and looked up at the camera watching him. "How bad is it?"

A long pause followed and for a moment Bruce wondered, not for the first time, if they actually needed him for whatever this was about.

"It's bad."

It looked as though the Hulk was needed as a tool for victory again.

* * *

"You are certain the sceptre is there?"

"As certain as I am about who my mamma was."

A confused frown creased Thor's forehead. He would never understand Midguardians and their unusual sense of humour.

"Then we must not waste any more time," he declared, rising from the leather sofa that was situated around a rectangular glass table in the centre of the grand living room of Avengers Tower. "The longer we wait the more likely the sceptre will have moved again once we arrive."

"I agree," Nick said. From the secret base in which he stood he folded his hands behind his back and took a deep breath. "That's why I need THE REST OF YOU TO HURRY YOUR PUNK ASSES UP AND GET IN STARK'S LIVING ROOM NOW!"

Thor roamed his blue gaze fervently across the room, hoping that two or three particular Avengers were now not in an angry mood.

* * *

Perhaps the only other Avenger, apart from Steve and Thor, who was only partially upset about losing some sleep was Clint. He blew out a long sigh from his mouth and pursed his lips into a thin line, keeping in the obnoxious grumbling, and grabbing his phone.

His thumb pressed on the unlock key and his phone came to life, the large screen projecting bright, glaring light at his face. His eyes narrowed at the screen – it read Fury. _Another mission. _

Scratching the growing stubble on the left underside of his jaw he swiped his thumb over the green answer phone. "Sir?"

"Barton, meet the rest of your team downstairs in twenty. Thor's anxious for all of ya'll to get going and grab Loki's-" the name made Clint's blood boil. His fingers wrapped around the phone a little tighter. He closed his eyes and shook his head, blowing out a deep breath through his nose. _Flush him out. _

"Barton. Barton? Barton, you copy?"

"Yeah," he sighed tiredly.

Clearly, his superior didn't believe him. "Oh yeah, well what did I just say?"

The archer chuckled dryly. "Grab Loki's sceptre from Sokovia with as little damage as possible."

Without missing a beat the former head of S.H.I.E.L.D spoke again with the tiniest trace of humour captured in his tone. "You're lucky I like you Barton."

"Woah, Fury, you know you're not my type,"

"Shut up. You now got eighteen minutes to get your ass downstairs. And contact Romanoff too."

"Yes, Sir."

With a beep the line went dead. Clint blinked slowly and lowered his phone to the table. The thought of getting out of bed still felt like the world's largest chore, even after all the years he spent doing the same thing on a regular basis, or even getting no sleep at all. Though, one thing good came with getting up this morning.

With a coy, yet satisfied, smile slowly creeping on his face he lowered himself back down onto the bed, twisting his body to the left. He buried his nose in the mess of red curls next to him, nuzzling gently, his right arm coming to wrap around the petite waist of the woman next to him.

Natasha was awake the moment the phone rang, but thanks to Clint it meant that she could catch a few more minutes peace whilst he answered it.

"Seventeen minutes, Clint."

Barton inhaled the scent of strawberries. "We can wait around a bit. We'd be down there in two, which means we've still got another fifteen minutes to lie around and do nothing."

"Sloth," Natasha sneered good-naturedly.

"Bitch," that earned him a soft jab in the ribs.

"Ass."

"You noticed?"

The next fifteen minutes were spent by throwing insults and sharing kisses, the insults all in good jest of course.

* * *

**Yeah, so please don't hate me. The idea just hit me and I thought 'hey this would be a great Clintasha way to start Age of Ultron if they were canon in the MCU!' and bam! I also thought it would be great to include all of the Avengers. I hope I caught their character ok, if not all, then at least a good amount. This is my first time writing them, after all. I'm sorry if you're unhappy over how short Thor's part is, but it just appears to me like he is the most difficult for me to write. I will try to find situations in which I can practice writing him and hopefully catch his essence more. I'll continue following the events of the film from here, and maybe add a few of my own things afterwards as well as re-writes, cough, chapter 2. Thanks, every one, keep your eyes open for more. :)**


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